The Stars Are Hidden
by The Sushi Monster
Summary: They are a team, first and foremost. / A collection about the revolving door of relationships.
1. mimesis

**Summary: **_"Doctor Who is a sci-fi classic," says Fitz  
><em>**Warning/Spoiler: **None.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+/PG  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s):** Fitz&Skye, Simmons

**Author's Note: **Each chapter is based upon a word from the "otp feels meme" on Tumblr. There will probably be three for each of the fifteen ships between the main six. One of those three will probably be romantic, but the others are fair game.

This chapter is based on the prompt from maxliz "Fitz is like "yo let's watch this episode of doctor who" so the whole team watches it and there's a woman named Skye Silverstein and everyone's like "ohhh Skye" and Skye gets possessed and starts repeating everyone in the ep so then real Skye does it to freak fitz out feel free to watch the episode for reference."

* * *

><p><strong>mimesis<strong>

"_Fitz_ – I promise I will do your dishes for a week. _Anything_ else," says Skye, her hands interlocked in front of her. "_Please_."

Fitz grins back brightly. "You all said I could pick tonight. And I pick _Doctor Who_." He waves a DVD box around and Simmons rolls her eyes. "Midnight. _The_ best episode."

"Debatable," says Simmons, crossing her legs on her side of the couch, more interested in the book Ward is trying to read. "_The Hunger Games?_"

"Why is that first book you think of – "

"Skye," says Coulson, shaking his head and lowering her hands as he leans over May, "we did say it's Fitz's turn."

"But _Doctor Who?_" says Skye, groaning as sits back up on the couch between Ward and Simmons. "Really?"

"Doctor Who is a sci-fi classic," says Fitz as he inserts the disc.

"I don't care if it's freaking classic – I don't want to – "

"Skye," says May finally from her seat curled up in the single arm chair, "you want team bonding, then you have to let the team _bond_."

Skye bites her lip as the theme music starts playing.

—

Skye is leaning against Ward, mouth slightly ajar, her hand twitching against Simmons' knee. "Okay," she says slowly as the credit roll, and even Ward stretches out his legs, "that wasn't as bad as I thought."

"It _wasn't bad_," says Fitz, "it was amazing! Bloody best episode of the series!"

"Oh, Fitz, don't exaggerate," says Simmons, patting his arm across the armrest. "But I'm glad you warmed up to it, Skye."

"Yes, I know what I'm talking about when it comes to television," says Fitz, nodding firmly, even as May rolls her eyes behind him, exiting the longue. Ward nudges Skye away as he and Coulson move to the kitchen, but Skye is focused solely on Fitz. "Trust me."

Then Skye grins. "Trust me."

Fitz blinks. "That's what I just said."

"That's what I just said."

Simmons bites back a laugh, but Fitz glares. "You're hilarious. Really."

"You're hilarious. Really," repeats Skye, copying his narrowed eyes and twitching finger.

"You can stop now."

"You can stop now."

"I'm serious – "

"I'm serious."

Fitz groans. "Simmons, make her stop!"

"Simmons, make her stop!"

"And how, exactly, do you suppose I do that," says Simmons, raising an eyebrow.

"And how, exactly, do you suppose – "

Fitz straightens. "She's copying you too! Skye!"

"She's copying you – "

"Fitz, you're only encouraging her.

"Fitz, you're only encouraging her."

Fitz leans towards Skye; she mirrors his movements, arms resting on her knees and eyes still narrowed. Fitz nods slowly when Skye does the same. "You're just channeling the Skye from the episode."

"You're just channeling – "

"You're just trying to freak me out."

"You're just trying to – "

"Well it won't work, because I know – "

"Because I know that television isn't reality," says Skye with a tiny grin, watching Fitz's neck turn red.

"The – "

" – hell," says Skye, finishing his thought, complete with a poor imitation of his accent. Simmons does laugh this time.

"She's good," she says, and Skye suppresses the grin of triumph when Fitz glares at his partner. "What? She's predicting your thoughts. _I _can do that, but we all know that's just an anomaly – "

Fitz waves Simmons' words away. "She's just trying to get me back for – "

" – forcing her to watch _Doctor Who_," says Skye, matching his sentence.

Fitz leans back. "You know what, I'm not going to encourage you. I'm going to go to my bunk now. Do not follow me."

Skye repeats him, still grinning, even standing when he does. And when Fitz backs up, always still facing the other two, Skye follows his steps. "You're weird," she says, and Fitz squeaks a little before shutting the door between them.

Simmons nods beside her. "That was pretty good. I'm impressed."

"Thanks." Skye loops her arm through Simmons'. "And the best part is, next time I get to pick!"


	2. quiver

**Summary: **_It's look in his eyes  
><em>**Warning/Spoiler: **None.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T/PG-13  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s):** Ward/Simmons

**Author's Note: **This is my attempt at Ward/Simmons - let's see where it goes.

* * *

><p><strong>quiver<strong>

It's look in his eyes; the intense fire that stares through her, like she's naked – he can see skin and bones and soul, just her without the lab-coat or the science or the uneasy words to hide behind. Her stomach is warm; it matches his eyes, especially when he takes three steps forward and Jemma has to crane her neck in order to keep her gaze locked upon his.

A moment later - a shocked gasp later, where her breath leaves her lips and he's all around her and she truly cannot breathe but she really doesn't want to – Grant is kissing Jemma, with teeth and lips and arms and fingers. His neck cracks when she tries to pull it closer, and the growl that leaves his throat makes her quiver even as she smiles slightly. His arm embraces her lower back and he lifts her onto the lab desk; she shrugs off the white coat, snaking her arms around his neck. Automatically stepping between her legs, she doesn't hesitate to cross her ankles behind his back.

He groans into her mouth again; when she pulls back to grin, instead she's left moaning as his lips leave kissing on her neck. Biting her lip, she lets a hand run up his chest to the back of his neck, gently tugging at his collar. He's whispering something into her ear now, and if she's honest she has no earthly idea what – all she can process is his warm breath tickling her skin and the intensity of the warmth pooling in her lower stomach.

She lifts his chin, forcing him to look at her. The look hasn't disappeared – his eyes are still intense, still filled with flame; he can still _see_ her and the tiny twitch in his brow doesn't disappear even when her fingers linger over his jawline. "Hey," she says, breathless and quite frankly in awe.

"Hey," he says, yet with a tiny grin. Grant leans his forehead into hers and Jemma can't resist leaving a tiny kiss on his nose.

(He rolls her eyes. She giggles. He kisses her again.)


	3. spirits

**Summary: **_And even with the steady breaths he's forcing upon himself, Fitz isn't relaxed  
><em>**Warning/Spoiler: **None.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T/PG-13  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s):** Fitz&May

**Author's Note: **This is one of my favorite pairings. I had way too much fun writing this short thing.

* * *

><p><strong>spirits<strong>

May watches him fidget in his seat, running his fingers through his messy curls. She sighs. "You need to relax."

Fitz glares at her, grip tightening on his head. "I don't know _how_."

And even with the steady breaths he's forcing upon himself, Fitz isn't relaxed: his shoulders are hunched forward, his teeth are grinding together, and his leg keeps bouncing into the table. Reaching for the cup beside her, she pushes it towards him. The glass on wood screeches, loud enough for Fitz to wince when he looks up at her, leaving behind a path of condensation and possibilities. "Drink," she says.

"We're in the middle of a mission and you want me to – "

"Drink," says May again, keeping her face and arm steady. Fitz hesitates but soon shrugs and throws back the hard liquor, and May imagines the spirits burning through Fitz as he grimaces. "Better?"

Fitz closes his eyes and nods, stretching out his fingers several times. When he opens his eyes, there's a shadow lingering in his gaze; May just barely smiles. "So what's the plan?"

"Coulson will be here soon. I can get us out of the room, but I need you to disable the sensors in the hallway." Fitz nods and May suspects his brain is already whirling through the calculations. "How long will that take?"

Fitz's reading invisible words, his fingers waving in the air. "I'd need to unlock the keypad and get around the retinal scanner – " He mumbles something and May lets out a deep breath. "Thirty seconds."

This time May actually smiles. "Perfect."

(Ten minutes later, with several burly mean bleeding on the floor and a tiny metallic chip inconspicuously buried within a brown package, May nods to Fitz; he promises to buy her a drink the next time they're in Scotland.)


	4. pink

**Summary: **_Simmons looks amazing in pink.  
><em>**Warning/Spoiler: **None.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T/PG-13  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s):** Skye/Simmons

**Author's Note: **I actually really hate how this came out but ugh.

* * *

><p><strong>pink<strong>

Simmons looks amazing in pink.

And that's Skye's last coherent thought because Simmons's teeth are biting down on her pink lips and her pink blouse is slipping off her pale shoulders and Skye spots the pink lace of her bra. If Simmons is a color, it's pink: and Skye loves that.

So Skye kisses her.

They're lying beside each other on Skye's bed, other clothes scattered across the floor and shoes in piles at the door. Skye's fingers run down Simmons' arm, and amused at the goosebumps that crawl along her skin, Skye grins into Simmons' lips. "You're beautiful," whispers Skye, letting her breath mingle against the corner of Simmons' mouth as their hands intertwine. The tiny pink blush that arises over Simmons' cheek only makes Skye grin wider. "So beautiful."

There's a pause before Simmons bites down on Skye's lip and she moans. Simmons' tiny smirk is fire and Skye's hand snakes around to curl around Simmons' hair because she's fine burning. A foot running between her legs, Skye lets her lips travel down Simmons' jaw to her neck. The foot travels higher before suddenly Simmons is sitting up and straddling her, wicked grin highlighted by the bright lights still sparking from their early modeling session.

The pink blouse is slipping further and Skye doesn't hesitate to skim her fingers over the skin and the lace; her skin glows, even despite tiny markings that Skye is proud to say are her own. Simmons shifts, and when their eyes lock, the glint in her eye ignites the fire deep in her stomach and Skye sits up.

Staring in deep eyes, Skye kisses her. "Beautiful," she whispers against pink lips.


	5. resistentialism

**Summary: **_"It's all in the wrist," said Simmons  
><em>**Warning/Spoiler: **None.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+/PG  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s):** Coulson&Simmons

**Author's Note: **It needed to happen.

* * *

><p><strong>resistentialism<strong>

Coulson groaned, eyebrows knitted together, when the holographic image remained completely still.

"It's all in the wrist," said Simmons, her fingers elegantly dancing across the images, stretching out a model to view the inside wires. "See?"

Coulson slowly moved his thumbs apart, hoping for the orange hologram to zoom in; instead, the transparent box bounced back. "No," he said, grinding his teeth together to stop from pouting. "Why is this so hard?"

Simmons bit down a laugh. It just wouldn't do to laugh at her boss. "It takes time and practice," she said carefully, lifting a smaller replica of a cellphone. "Here, let's try this instead." She moved the yellow transparency in front of Coulson, and gently expanded it with her fingers. "It's all about relaxing into it. Think of it like handling an animal – the holographic technology is more afraid of you than you are of it."

Coulson raised an eyebrow, struggling to keep a straight face. "Really?" Simmons shrugged. Sighing, he lifted his hands and let out a deep breath. "Okay." Carefully, he hooked his index finger in the imaginary grip, and let his other hand pull the image. "You are not scary. I am not afraid of you," he said, muttering under his breath, and if Simmons laughed, Coulson pretended not to hear it. After several antagonizing, slow minutes the yellow image had been expanded.

Simmons beamed. "Excellent! See, it's all about conquering your fears and not letting the system anticipate your nervousness."

Coulson laughed. "Well, at least it's a start." He glanced over at the rainbow of images still displayed across the table; frowning, he leaned over the table. "So where _is_ the on button?"

This time, Coulson definitely heard her laughing.


	6. run

**Summary: "**Before, Skye hated running." (May&Skye)  
><strong>WarningSpoiler: **None.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: K+/PG  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s): **May&Skye

**Author's Note:** This seemed better in my better.

* * *

><p><strong>run<strong>

Before, Skye hated running. But now, with a slowly healing hole in her stomach, she doesn't mind all that much. They've landed for the day, so she runs on gravel sidewalks, the early morning silence her only music.

It's after the first song that she realizes there's someone following her. A quick glance backwards and the panic relaxes. "I know you're there," says Skye instead, slowing down her pace just slightly.

May jogs in time with her. She doesn't try to defend herself or give an excuse, and Skye finds that's preferable. Their rhythms align, harsh steps echoing against the sunrise as their feet hit concrete. It's breezy, the bass drum line to their symphony, and it dries the sweat pooling on the base of Skye's neck. May keeps pace with her, even when Skye slows down slightly out of breath; she tries not to smile.

"Who sent you?" says Skye, words escaping between exhalations, thighs burning in the increasing sunlight. "Ward? Coulson?"

"No one," says May, slowing to a quick walk that Skye matches immediately. The ache in her side dulls a little, so she breathes deeply and leans on her knees. May waits, eyes scanning the surroundings.

Skye frowns. "Do you really expect someone to just attack us? Right now?" And May stiffens, her eyes falling to meet Skye's own. She doesn't answer the question and instead tilts her head and _looks_. Skye feels her throat dry; she swallows. "Thank you."

May nods. Skye inhales, blinks, and moves again. May follows.


	7. work

**Summary: **_"It's time to get to work, Agent Ward."_  
><strong>WarningSpoiler: **Spoilers for 1x17 "Turn Turn Turn" plus reference to blood/death (you know which one)  
><strong>Rating<strong>: K+/PG  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s): **Ward&Coulson

**Author's Note:** Don't try to convince me otherwise, I don't want to hear it.

* * *

><p><strong>work<strong>

"It's time to get to work, Agent Ward."

Grant wants to be surprised, wants to be worried or anxious. He wants to have some basis to complain and disagree, to fight and defend. But he has nothing but the cuts on his face and the empty air between his fingers. While Grant grasps at nothing, Coulson stares back steadily, impassive eyes and thin smile.

"It won't be pretty, sir," says Grant only because he needs to fill the silence sinking between his pores, settling in his veins, already tearing apart the cracking bones into jagged splinters slicing his carefully arranged walls. "I already have blood on my hands."

Coulson knows this, of course he does, so instead of handing him the gun, he raises an eyebrow. "Are you willing to shed some more?"

Instead of answering, Grant stares at the floor. Dirt footprints stain the tiled floor, circles of blood and mud swirled into patterns. He wishes he had saved a grenade. "Thank you, sir." Coulson says nothing so Grant chews his lip in the uneasy silence, heavy breathing slowly suffocating him.

Coulson squeezes his shoulder. Grant wants to punch him. Instead, he forces a smile.

"Good luck, son," says Coulson.

This time, when Grant nods and slips away, he doesn't let the words get to him. Too many times has a man imprinted those words onto his skin and this time he refuses to let them sink too deep.

"Time to get to work," says Grant later, cradling an ICER in his hand, watching blood drip down Agent Hand's skin.

Garrett laughs. "Hail Hydra," he says before launching into a story.

Grant shines the blade and begins to carve his name into brick.


	8. blue

**Summary: **_"The thick Scottish accent stirs fire in his chest."_  
><strong>WarningSpoiler: **AU.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: K+/PG  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s): **Fitz/Ward

**Author's Note:** For Cory.

* * *

><p><strong>blue (color is irrelevant with a love like this)<strong>

Grant doesn't want to be here. He wants to be at a bar, drinking beer or gin, the cool glass contrasting sharply to the blood warming in his veins.

Instead, he slumps into his plastic chair, watching the group leader smile brightly and offer calm works. Her gentle voice irritates him, loud and sincere, scratching against his ears. Grant squeezes his arms in frustration.

The man beside him glances at his fingers then his face before shaking his head and turning back to the woman talking about her abusive ex-husband. Grant frowns. "What?" he whispers.

The man raises an eyebrow, not looking at him, a tiny smirk teasing the corner of his lips. Grant almost wants to punch him – but then the man leans over. "Fitz," he whispers, hot breath tickling Grant's neck. "I have no friends."

Biting his lip, he wills away the smile. The thick Scottish accent stirs fire in his chest. "Grant," he says.

Fitz blatantly gazes over at him, sharp eyes lingering between the corner of pleased and surprised. "There's a bar right across the street. They have some great beer on tap."

"You a regular?"

"Something like that," says Fitz, leaning forward, elbows on knees. The leader passes tissues over to the older man with a dead daughter. Like Fitz, he's dressed in black.

Frowning, Grant crosses his arms over his chest, inching his legs apart. Fitz is greyscale – a dark hoodie masks yellow-tinted skin and his muddy shoes squeak against ripped soles. But when Fitz glances back at him, eyebrow raised and biting lip, Grant finally relaxes. "That beer sounds great."

Fitz smirks. Even though he may dress in black and white, his blue eyes make color irrelevant.

Grant smiles when the group leader stops over to him. "Grant Ward," he says, carefully watching Fitz. "I'm pretty boring."


End file.
